East of Eden
Page 190His stomach contracted. “I haven’t got the courage. I’m a cowardly yellow belly. I couldn’t stand it.”
He went into the bathroom and measured three teaspoons of elixir of bromide into a glass and added water until the red medicine was pink. He carried the glass to the living room and put it on the table. He folded the telegram and shoved it in his pocket. He said aloud, “I hate a coward! God, how I hate a coward!” His hands were shaking and a cold perspiration dampened his forehead.
At four o’clock he heard Adam fumbling at the doorknob. Lee licked his lips. He stood up and walked slowly to the hall. He carried the glass of pink fluid and his hand was steady.
Chapter 55
1
All of the lights were on in the Trask house. The door stood partly open, and the house was cold. In the sitting room Lee was shriveled up like a leaf in the chair beside the lamp. Adam’s door was open and the sound of voices came from his room.
When Cal came in he asked, “What’s going on?”
Lee looked at him and swung his head toward the table where the open telegram lay. “Your brother is dead,” he said. “Your father has had a stroke.”
Cal started down the hall.
Lee said, “Come back. Dr. Edwards and Dr. Murphy are in there. Let them alone.”
Cal stood in front of him. “How bad? How bad, Lee, how bad?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke as though recalling an ancient thing. “He came home tired. But I had to read him the telegram. That was his right. For about five minutes he said it over and over to himself out loud. And then it seemed to get through into his brain and to explode there.”
Lee said wearily, “Sit down and wait, Cal. Sit down and wait. Get used to it. I’m trying to.”
Cal picked up the telegram and read its bleak and dignified announcement.
Dr. Edwards came out, carrying his bag. He nodded curtly, went out, and closed the door smartly behind him.
Dr. Murphy set his bag on the table and sat down. He sighed. “Dr. Edwards asked me to tell you.”
“How is he?” Cal demanded.
“I’ll tell you all we know. You’re the head of the family now, Cal. Do you know what a stroke is?” He didn’t wait for Cal to answer. “This one is a leakage of blood in the brain. Certain areas of the brain are affected. There have been earlier smaller leakages. Lee knows that.”
“Yes,” said Lee.
Dr. Murphy glanced at him and then back at Cal. “The left side is paralyzed. The right side partly. Probably there is no sight in the left eye, but we can’t determine that. In other words, your father is nearly helpless.”
“Can he talk?”
“A little—with difficulty. Don’t tire him.”
Cal struggled for words. “Can he get well?”
“You mean he’s going to die?”
“We don’t know. He might live for a week, a month, a year, even two years. He might die tonight.”
“Will he know me?”
“You’ll have to find that out for yourself. I’ll send a nurse tonight and then you’ll have to get permanent nurses.” He stood up. “I’m sorry, Cal. Bear up! You’ll have to bear up.” And he said, “It always surprises me how people bear up.” They always do. Edwards will be in tomorrow. Good night.” He put his hand out to touch Cal’s shoulder, but Cal moved away and walked toward his father’s room.
Adam’s head was propped up on pillows. His face was calm, the skin pale; the mouth was straight, neither smiling nor disapproving. His eyes were open, and they had great depth and clarity, as though one could see deep into them and as though they could see deep into their surroundings. And the eyes were calm, aware but not interested. They turned slowly toward Cal as he entered the room, found his chest, and then rose to his face and stayed there.
Cal sat down in the straight chair beside the bed. He said, “I’m sorry, Father.”
The eyes blinked slowly the way a frog blinks.
“Can you hear me, Father? Can you understand me?” The eyes did not change or move. “I did it,” Cal cried. “I’m responsible for Aron’s death and for your sickness. I took him to Kate’s. I showed him his mother. That’s why he went away. I don’t want to do bad things—but I do them.”
He put his head down on the side of the bed to escape the terrible eyes, and he could still see them. He knew they would be with him, a part of him, all of his life.
The doorbell rang. In a moment Lee came to the bedroom, followed by the nurse—a strong, broad woman with heavy black eyebrows. She opened breeziness as she opened her suitcase.
“Where’s my patient! There he is! Why, you look fine! What am I doing here? Maybe you better get up and take care of me, you look good. Would you like to take care of me, big handsome man?” She thrust a muscular arm under Adam’s shoulder and effortlessly hoisted him toward the head of the bed and held him up with her right arm while with her left she patted out the pillows and laid him back.
“Make a list,” said Lee. “And if you need any help—with him—”
“Why would I need help? We’ll get along just fine, won’t we, sugar-sweetie?”
Lee and Cal retired to the kitchen. Lee said, “Before she came I was going to urge you to have some supper—you know, like the kind of person who uses food for any purpose good or bad? I bet she’s that way. You can eat or not eat, just as you wish.”
Cal grinned at him. “If you’d tried to make me, I’d have been sick. But since you put it that way, I think I’ll make a sandwich.”
“You can’t have a sandwich.”
“I want one.”
“It all works out,” said Lee, “true to outrageous form. It’s kind of insulting that everyone reacts about the same way.”
“I don’t want a sandwich,” Cal said. “Are there any tarts left?”
“Plenty—in the breadbox. They may be a little soaky.”
“I like them soaky,” Cal said. He brought the whole plate to the table and set it in front of him.
The nurse looked into the kitchen. “These look good,” she said and took one, bit into it, and talked among her chewings. “Can I phone Krough’s drugstore for the things I need? Where’s the phone? Where do you keep the linen? Where’s the cot you’re going to bring in? Are you through with this paper? Where did you say the phone is?” She took another tart and retired.